


That Which Lingers

by thingsishouldntbedoing



Series: Cor aut Mors [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Intrigue, M/M, Mages and Templars, Murder Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsishouldntbedoing/pseuds/thingsishouldntbedoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something festers in Kirkwall in the year after the Grand Cleric's assassination and the Knight-Commander's fall from grace: new Templars falling mysteriously ill, Carta dealers turning up as bodies, and the Chantry doing little to nothing to investigate. Not everything is as it seems, and even the most loyal can be broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Lingers

**Author's Note:**

> "As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,  
> the movement of his powerful soft strides  
> is like a ritual dance around a center  
> in which a mighty will stands paralyzed."  
> \- _The Panther_ , Rainer Maria Rilke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of _That Which Lingers_. You can find me on [**tumblr**](http://jocunditea.co.vu/) or [**twitter**](http://twitter.com/thorintea). A huge thanks to [**hollyoakhill**](http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com) without whom this fic would never have come to life.
> 
>  
> 
> **Art for That Which Lingers**  
> [banner pic](http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com/post/109387056174/please-dont-repost-or-share-without-my-written)  
> [uniforms](http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com/post/108016611929/modern-au-doodles-during-class-i-guess)  
> [desert sequence](http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com/post/107837617334/part-of-my-modern-world-dragon-age-au-in-which)  
> [more uniform refs](http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com/post/107495788249/just-some-quick-sketches-of-modern-world-templars)  
> [hollyoakhill on tumblr](http://40.media.tumblr.com/9f7e68140f5f4024fb95dc3c01e53935/tumblr_nhs2xnjAIT1r5fw62o2_1280.png)  
> [Cullen and Cass](http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com/post/111387289109/i-got-a-bit-further-with-it-today-nothing-much)  
> [the post that started it all](http://hollyoakhill.tumblr.com/post/110475129394/hollyoakhill-modern-au-cullen-im-sorry-this)

Summer had always been his least favorite season: sultry and laden with the heady scents of jasmine and begonias, and the brine of the surrounding ocean. Scents that dizzied his mind, making thought impossible under the blinding sun. He shielded his eyes, tugging on the collar of his shirt as a single bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face - little relief against the blistering heat with its chorus of droning locusts in their end of summer rites.

Flies, dark and numerous, hovered to and fro about the coroners’ assistants as they wrapped a half-rotted carcass in a body bag. The stench nearly overwhelmed him, the flesh rancid from the heat, and he reconsidered his previous thoughts: he’d take the summer flowers back now. 

“How long?” he asked, his own words too loud, too abrupt in the relative silence of the hotel depository. The Guard had sent their own people, a woman he had met before - Aveline, if he remembered correctly - and a man he had seen at her side a number of times, both of whom were watching him in bitter silence.  
  
“Hard to tell. A few days at least?” the coroner answered immediately, giving a nervous glance to Aveline. “Knight-Captain, I…”  
  
“Don’t worry about The Guard. This is a high profile case, Templars will be handling it.”  
  
“Under _whose_ authority? This is a simple open and shut murder case, Knight-Captain.” Aveline wasn’t about to go down without a fight, that much he knew. “There’s no reason for the Chantry to be involved.”  
  
“Under the authority of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.” He would have to clear that with Cassandra later - using her name to invoke answers was not the best way to gain her favor. She would thank him for this, though. “The Seekers supercede any other jurisdiction.”  
  
“This is ridiculous!” Aveline scowled, jabbing a finger at him. “Templars still think they can push everyone around in this town.”  
  
A pang of regret hit him hard and he pushed his sunglasses farther up his nose, feeling them sliding down on his own sweat.  
  
“I’m not pushing you around, Guardswoman-”  
  
“ _Captain_. Captain Hendyr,” She corrected fiercely.  
  
“Captain Hendyr, then. Understand that this is no choice of mine.” So that was a lie. Not the first lie he’d told that day and most certainly not the last. “I’ll ask you to remove yourself from this investigation.”  
  
She lingered, staring him down with fury in her eyes. Had she been a mage, he was certain he would have been on fire. As it was, Aveline was _no_ mage and he was relatively safe. Relative to _what_ exactly still escaped him, and he would pay in some subtle way later if the tilt of her shoulders and the scowl on her lips were anything to go by, but that mattered little at present.

“Very well, Knight-Captain.”

  


* * *

 

Pacing. She couldn’t remember a time that she hadn’t paced. Hadn’t burnt a ring around the dining table, into the kitchen and back around. Hadn’t marched down the hallway and into the bathroom and out again - up into the bedroom, then back to the living room to begin again. Thinking, thinking, lost in thought.

She hated thinking. Hated pacing. Hated waiting. She was a woman of action! She knocked down doors and made men cower in her shadow and slayed dragons in a single swing. She didn’t wear holes in the sole of her shoes with indecision and mind numbing _thought_.

Yet, here she was - and a swift kick to the coffee table only proved what she knew to be true.

“I sense that something is bothering you,” a gentle voice reached into her thoughts and drew her out as a savior rescued the drowned.  
  
She didn’t need to speak aloud her thoughts, Galyan knew them as well as his own. An attempt died on her lips regardless. 

“Why don’t you have a seat?” He nudged the chair across from him with his toes, offering a hand. “Drink some tea?”  
  
“I cannot puzzle this out, Galyan.” She gripped the rungs of the chair, her Seeker vest hanging heavily on her shoulders. “Templars and Carta members. The death of the Grand Cleric. That mage is still on the loose, by the way, what in Andraste’s name was the Chantry _doing_ here in Kirkwall?”  
  
“Nothing, if the evidence is to be believed?” Galyan spread his hands. “What about your friend?”  
  
“My _friend_? The Templar Captain? Cullen is his name.” She chewed her lip, rocking the chair on its pegs absently. “He has quite the… _reputation_. A survivor of the massacre at Kinloch Hold, sent to Kirkwall nearly a decade ago to serve under Knight-Commander Meredith, took the mages’ side during the rebellion last year.”  
  
“We all saw how well _that_ went down.” He snorted and took a drink. “Ah, nothing like Orlesian coffee in the wee hours of the morning.”  
  
“You didn’t have to get up,” she chided. “And yes, the circumstances surrounding the collapse of Meredith’s command were… unfortunate.”  
  
“Did you ever manage to track down Hawke?” He knew he’d struck a nerve if the smile on his voice was anything to go by, and she jerked away from the table. “Oh, did I upset you?”

“You know perfectly well. Do not smile at me and ask such a… You are intolerable!”   
  
“Yet somehow you’re still here,” his laughter stroked her spine and settled in her belly, easy and warm. 

“I do not know if I can trust him yet.” She pulled out her phone and flicked it to life - a practice she had perfected out of sheer impatience. “ _Maker’s breath,_ I hate waiting.”  
  
“So stop waiting? Go look around? Markus will call you when the results come back.” Galyan rose from his seat, pushing wayward hairs back from his face, and offered her his other hand. “Come here.”  
  
“It feels like you are giving me orders, Gal.” She placed her fingers into his palm and let him pull her closer.  
  
“No, there’s just something on your face,” he said seriously. “Hold still.”  
  
“Is there? What is it?” She reached to brush some unseen offense away.  
  
“Me.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, catching his fingers in the short strands at the nape of her neck. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”  
  
She didn’t have the heart to be angry with his trick, even mockingly, and a soft smile fought its way onto her face. He lifted her spirits, even in the dull pre-dawn light of a day whose end she could not predict.  
  
“Thank you.” She braced his jaw in her hands and retraced the greens of his irises and the dark length of his lashes.  
  
“You know, when you stare into my eyes like this it feels more like an interrogation than a loving gaze.” She caught his smile in her peripheral view and allowed the soft press of his lips to hers. “Be safe.”  
  
“I am always safe,” she answered. 

It was with a heavy heart that she walked out her front door. It was a rare day that she left her house wishing only to return to her bed and cast aside her burdens… And today, standing in the brackish air still heavy with sea spray from the night’s high tide, she had to force herself to sling her weapon over her shoulder and take the first step.

Having too many questions, not enough answers, and nowhere to begin was not her favorite way to start her day.

 

* * *

 

He flipped through glossy photographs, a feeling of apathy crawling into his chest and mingling with the early rumblings of frustration. Cullen had spent hours sorting through every piece of trash and discarded rubbish in a half mile area - and promptly come home to scrub every inch of himself with antibacterial soap.

Now, after fractured nightmares and a less than satisfactory amount of sleep, he mainlined coffee and burned imprints of photographs onto his corneas. There was little else to do on a day off. A year ago he would have been in the Chantry regardless; a year ago he would have been bent and broken and brainless; a year ago…

He reached and fiddled with the familiar syringe, rolling the metal body between his fingers. The Lyrium glowed in the faded light of his apartment, muted blue and tempting, drawing his tired eyes and attention. A strange resentment clutched his heart as he ticked the dosage meter down. Another tick less. Another dose lower. 

Cullen set the needle aside at the sound of his phone, faint and distant, and dragged himself up from his chair.   
  
“Knight-Captain,” he didn’t get the chance to say hello, “your tox results are back for the Carta murder. The files have been sent from The Guard as well, should I send them to you?”  
  
“No, it’s fine, I’ll come in.” He sank down onto the edge of his bed, pushing the tangled sheet aside. Of course he’d end up at work. What else did he have to do? What else could he do? The Chantry, the Templars, had always been his life.  

Desperation pulled him out his front door, unsteady and exhausted, into the bustle of a city with too many layers to keep track of. The sky was dark with an impending storm, moisture hanging heavy in the ocean air, and he took a deep breath, filling his lungs and bracing himself, relishing the damp and familiar. Kirkwall before a storm was cool and dim with whipping winds and passing showers, a pleasant change from the heavy summer humidity from the day before that had clung to his skin and pressed into his body until he was dripping sweat.

He set off at a steady pace, ignoring the glances from the passers-by. Cullen was not an unusual sight, but he had to assume he looked like hell. He was disconnected, absent, lost - and it was not hard to see on his face. 

He slowed as he neared the Chantry steps, stopping to look up at the stained glass. A symbol of hope and prosperity for many, and a symbol of flagrant abuse of power for others - at this moment… he wasn’t sure what it represented to him. The Chantry had once been home, had been his sanctuary.

A raven’s call interrupted his thoughts, the fluttering of wings immediately followed by a frigid breeze that eased the ache deep in his muscles, and made breathing easier for the briefest moment. His skin burned under the influence of magic - the pressure of fingers in his palm vanishing as quickly as they had come.  
  
“What?” Cullen turned, looking over the heads of people passing by. A mage had passed him, had used magic to remain unseen, yet no one else had noticed. He uncoiled his fingers to reveal a neatly folded piece of paper in the shape of a bird. "A raven?"

 

* * *

 

“Well, _that_ was appropriately sneaky.” A voice greeted her as she reappeared, ice bursting around her body. “Have you ever considered becoming a rogue?”

What little light there was in the narrow alley fell on her cousin’s face, illuminating golden eyes and casting a prism of tones through carefully crafted hair. He caught his chin in long fingers and smiled charmingly, the knit fabric of his cardigan falling open to expose a flash of rich fabrics and Tevinter flair.  
  
“Haha, very funny!” She coiled her blonde hair around her fingers and tucked it into the back of her collar, upsetting the raven that fluttered onto her shoulder. “Do you think our Templar will bite?”  
  
“He had better, or he and the Seeker will be at each others’ throats before long.” The concern on her cousin’s face pulled at his features and wrinkled the corners of his eyes. He ran his fingertips over his mustache, smoothing it absently before sighing heavily, the width of his shoulders shifting against the brick wall behind him. “Are we doing the right thing?”  
  
“If we aren't I’m sure we'll find out in time," she sank her fingers into the crook of his elbow. “We shouldn’t linger. Templars will be swarming this area soon.” She pulled her hood over her head, shielding her hair from the drizzle.  
  
“ _Ridiculous_ ,” the raven added.

“Quite right, Bert,” she agreed.   
  
She didn’t move for a moment, despite her own insistence, catching the hem of her hood to keep it from blowing off. Her attention was taken by the Templar and his confusion - still standing rooted to the spot where she had left him. He was reading their message, smoothing neatly folded lines out of dark paper with careful fingers.  
  
“Keep an eye on him, Bert,” she whispered and the raven ruffled his feathers in response, taking flight.  
  
“Are we going?” Her cousin asked, impatience at the edge of his voice. “I don’t fancy being caught around here.”  
  
“Of course.” She glanced at him, then back at their quarry once more. “To lunch, then.”  
  
“At least _our_ day is going to go more smoothly than _theirs_ ,” he said brightly. She didn’t laugh as easily at that as she once might have.

 

* * *

 

With a file tucked under his arm and his phone in his hand he passed through the hallowed Chantry foyer, steps quick and steady. He had a lead, even if it was merely a gossamer thread hanging from an unknown end, and he would see it through. 

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” The bustle of the street outside faded to a dull roar beneath the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.  
  
“Lord Seeker Lucius!” Cullen slowed, automatically checking the unfastened straps of his flak vest. Templars and clergy alike passed around them, the conversations a dull white noise below their words. “I’m investigating a murder, ser.”  
  
“Are you?” The Seeker’s face wrinkled into a kindly smile. “Isn’t today a vacation day for you? I guess the rumors are true, you are like me - married to your job.”  
  
Cullen might once have flinched away from the hand that gripped his shoulder but he steeled his nerves, trying to calm the ache in his muscles. He was under scrutiny, now was not the time to show his hand.  
  
“I suppose so,” Cullen affirmed. “Married to my job.” The words left a bad taste in his mouth, vitriolic and rank. “I’m sorry, Serah, but this errand is a bit time sensitive.”

“Come see me after, son, we haven’t had much of a chance to speak one on one since I took over for Meredith. I would like to get to know you.” There was a threat in his eyes, or perhaps Cullen was simply imagining it, but it unsettled him regardless.

“Of course, Ser,” Cullen nodded, not taking his eyes off the Seeker’s face when he bowed. “Have a good day.” He left for the exit, his heart racing in his chest.  
  
“Knight-Captain?” 

“Yes, Lord Seeker?” He turned his body just slightly, fingers on the door.

“If you see Seeker Pentaghast, tell her I’d like to speak to her,” Lucius righted the gloves on his fingers and turned away. “It has been too long since we had a conversation.”  
  
“Of course, Ser,” he said again.  
  
He left the Chantry feeling as uncertain of his footing as he had before, stopping on the steps to take a breath. He wasn’t sure why he had felt cornered, but the Seekers’ presence in Kirkwall hadn’t been welcome to begin with.  
  
“ _Ridiculous_ ,” a croaky voice said from above him and he caught sight of a raven, dark against the grey sky. It ruffled its feathers against the mist, turning its sharp face to watch him with a liquid black eye, and he felt his skin tighten around gooseflesh.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra dropped low, peering around the corner as she locked a magazine into her rifle. To the untrained eye the extravagant hotel hallway would have seemed perfectly normal. Long benches of flowers beneath gilded mirrors and intricate wall sconces littered the walls - all things that she could use as a weapon if pressed. If she was going to go bursting into an unsuspecting Carta member’s room she wasn’t about to go in unprepared - and the lack of guards disturbed her.

The black paper that had led her here had been neatly folded and placed in Galyan’s possession despite his worried eyes, despite his wordless pleas. She would not risk being found with it, should she fail.

She crept down the hall, careful and quiet, breath hanging suspended in her lungs. One wrong move would alert them to her presence - this was her chance to catch a rat, someone she could interrogate for information. This was her chance for answers she had so desperately desired.  
  
“What do you mean?” An incredulous voice came from within the suite, loud and accented. The Carta member was still _alive_. “That’s preposterous!”  
  
“Hush!” A muffled attempt to quiet him came next, masculine and rough.  
  
“I will not hush! You cannot come in here and manhandle me like this!”  
  
“I said be _quiet_!” She heard the dull click of a magazine and couldn’t restrain herself anymore, listening to heavy boot steps approach the door.  
  
Cassandra braced herself, rising from her crouch ever so slightly. The muscles in her chest clenched tight around her heart, the suspense pumping adrenaline into her system. She was prepared for whatever came through the door, for whatever opened it.  
  
“Knight-Ca-” the dwarf’s voice became cleared as the door swung open and she threw all her weight behind the butt of her rifle, smashing it into the face of the first person she saw. The thud of the man’s body hitting the ground accompanied the drop of her safety and the lift of her weapon to her shoulder.  
  
“Nobody moves!” She scanned the room, stepping over the groaning figure beneath her.  
  
“Seeker?” The Carta dwarf was unharmed, sitting unhappily in a comfortable looking chair. “What in Andraste’s arse is going on here? Is the Knight-Captain okay?”  
  
“Knight… Knight-Captain?” She turned sharply, breath bursting out of her lungs in a panic.  
  
Cullen Rutherford, face desperately bloody, was laying spread eagle on the floor of the hotel room.

 


End file.
